‘Oh yeah,’ he said, his gaze locking with hers flirtatiously. ‘The summer season has officially kicked off.’

Chapter Six

The water lay stretched and tight like a bolt of sapphire silk, not so much as a wrinkle on its surface as Nymphea chugged efficiently out of the marina and into the narrow sound. They passed within metres of the opposite islands of Lökholmen and Krokso, which stood as buffers between Sandhamn and the open sea, heading back towards the strait.

Summer Isle, officially called Strommskar, lay a short distance behind them as part of a separate constellation of small, semi-linked holms, some so close to one another it was as though they were holding hands underwater. Max had described it for her as roughly forming the shape of a number six, with several breaches in the perimeter of the belly where occasionally curious sailors would glide silently through on their way back to the strait.

The children (Linus, really) had named the islands individually – Dead Man’s Bones on account of the hop-skip-and-jump collection of rocks that looked like a floating skeleton; Rockpools because of the inland ponds where they fished for minnows; Little Summer, which was right next to them; 007 because it had a big house that couldn’t be seen from the water, and the entire island was privately owned by a secretive rich family; Swan’s Nest after they were chased away by an aggressive cob . . .

Summer Isle was perhaps a square kilometre in total and was one of the more forested isles, with bare rock only on the perimeter; moss and pine needles carpeted the ground, and the light fell through the shimmying canopies in golden splinters. Last summer, Bell had spent hours exploring the island’s nooks and crannies with the children, fishing nets tightly gripped in their small fists as they pretended the smooth, pinkish rocks were sleeping hippos, the four of them spinning in circles, arms outstretched and their faces turned upwards like daisies, in the sunny pools of the scattered glades.

The children sat beside her now on the bench seats, wearing their lifejackets and enjoying the breeze on their faces as Hanna expertly guided the boat in closer. She knew instinctively where to avoid and turn, and had no need of the warning sticks alerting her to submerged rocks just below the surface. Max had been coming here since he was a boy and he had taught Hanna well.

The jetty was already visible, the Janssons’ sun-bleached flag flapping limply further up the shoreline. Bell joined the children as they instinctively twisted in their seats and looked down into the water as they drew ever closer, spotting the small stones on the sandy bottom, the delicate lacy fronds of spiracea and strife lilting with the tide; a crab scuttling nimbly across the seafloor, falling still as the shadow of the boat passed over.

Hanna docked with precision and she and Bell helped the children safely off the boat, Bell passing up the luggage bags for the two of them to carry between them. The rest of the children’s toys and sports kit would have to come up on separate trips.